Norbridge Revisited
by whoatethetardis
Summary: Kenny and Lynda visit the offices of the new Junior Gazette, and it all goes downhill from there...  Post TAC oneshot


"It's a bit fancy, isn't it?" frowned Lynda, as she and Kenny approached a run down, two-storey office block.

"Lynda, it's awful," Kenny disagreed half-heartedly.

"Well it's not nearly as bad as our building was!" she said disapprovingly. "Whatever happened to building a paper from nothing?"

"Oh, I don't know," muttered Kenny, "Occupational Health and Safety?"

"I mean, what on earth are they going to do with all the brain donors they'll have to employ if they can't banish them to a smelly corner with a cricket bat to deal with the rat infestation!" she wondered loudly as the two of them made their way swiftly towards the main entrance, Lynda in front, Kenny trotting after.

They paused on the steps.

"Feeling nostalgic, Boss?" he asked lightly.

"Of course not," she snapped, though her hand did linger briefly on the door as she pushed it open. It bore a hastily typed sign that read "_junior Gazelle – beware dragons_".

Following her into the hallway, Kenny pulled a box of Kleenex from a bag that was slung over his shoulder, and peered into the gloom. At the end of the corridor were a pair of double doors bearing another rough sign that read "_NEWSROOM_".

Lynda turned back to him triumphantly as they approached. "See? I _told_ you it was one word!"

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Yes, in the same way that 'gazelle' is a good name for name for a newspaper."

"Honestly, Kenny," she tutted. "You never used to be such a sore loser."

"I guess I'm out of practice," he offered, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, well, see if I let that happen again," Lynda said, and stopped in front of the door.

"I _am_ going back to Australia, Lynda," Kenny warned. "I'm just here until you get the new paper started."

"I've got a contact at Heathrow," she informed him, peering through the glass panels in the doors. "I've convinced her that the entire country is a nuclear wasteland and absolutely out-of-bounds for all aircraft. And so is New Zealand. And America for that matter…"

Kenny shook his head, and Lynda swung the double doors open. They were confronted by a newsroom peculiarly similar to the one that had burnt down the previous year. The bustle of people engulfed the two of them as they ventured forth into the room. Bizarrely familiar faces swept past Kenny, and as he struggled to put names to them he tried to remember whether or not he was even supposed to have met them before.

"What are you doing here?"

He spun around and regretted it as the room lurched in kind. A girl stood before him, a generous head shorter than he was, all curls and anger, wearing a pair of overalls he couldn't quite place.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Lynda," replied the girl, curtly.

"No, but…" he cast around for the real Lynda, but she was gone.

The imposter found her way into his line of vision.

"You don't work here," she said, her gaze boring into him in a way that would suggest she was perhaps, Lynda.

Kenny wished he knew where the real Lynda had got to. She had been at his side only moments ago, and now this little girl appeared to be channelling her. For some reason, he caught a powerful whiff of smoke, and felt inordinately nervous.

"We have to be careful, you know," the child said, and now Kenny looked she appeared to be becoming younger as he watched. "All sorts can just wander in here…"

There was a distant echoing gunshot and before it could fade there was a thunder of hooves from the other side of the newsroom and a knight appeared on a white horse, clad fully in an impressive display of chainmail. He leapt from his horse and took "Lynda" by the hand.

"The dragon approaches," he exclaimed, urgently, in an American accent. "You must leave at once or surely perish!"

"Bollocks," said the fake Lynda, and 20 pence pieces rained from her pockets, "there's no such thing as dragons."

On cue, the glittering mass of green scales crashed through the wall and let loose a deafening roar. It swiped the knight from in front of Lynda and Kenny leapt forward to protect her, only to find himself wedged under a desk and a filing cabinet, arm pinned beneath a typewriter and mouth and nose pressed into a plush Garfield that smelt strongly of PG Tips. He could only watch helplessly as the dragon's nostrils flared and his world was consumed by flame -

Kenny awoke, sweating. He watched his alarm clock flick from 3:59 to 4:00 am for the third time that week.

It was these bloody Australian summers, he knew it.


End file.
